Return
by rpmuleftw
Summary: In which a brother dies, and the other copes with grief. T for language and subject matter.


**February 13, day one:**

come back.

**Feburary 14, day two:**

temari suggested that i write it all down so i stop breaking things. i didn't want to until i came home and found this old journal under my bed. can not even remember how it got there. it's too big and the end of the spiral is cutting into my arm except i can't stop holding it so tight. the-

the door hinge was fixed today; our landlord said we have to pay for it because it was kicked in. temari looked as if she wanted to yell at me, but then she excused herself. her sobbing echoed all the way to the other end of the house.

temari has had both good and bad ideas in the past but this is one of her worst.

**February 15, day three:**

where are you where are you where are you where are you where are you where are you where are you where are you where

**Feburary 16, day four:**

why am i not crying? people cry when they these things happen. no? all i am able to do is sit and break glass and kick in doors; the doctor says my foot will be completely healed by next tuesday. part of me wishes it wasn't. i hope it leaves scars long and ugly enough for strangers to stare and for people to ask how did you get those? so i can tell them none of their business, or maybe the truth but it doesn't really matter what i tell them because it'll be you.

all of my scars are on the inside and it's not fair

we went through your room today. if our father were here he would make us pack up everything and give it away, but temari didn't touch anything. she said if we don't then you'll come back, but there was a bottle in her hand and it wasn't like her at all. your puppets are everywhere. i put them on your bed so they wouldn't get stepped on. their eyes are dead and i hate looking at them but i can't seem to stop; they pull me forward like a sign that says 'do not enter' or 'stay out' or 'certain death ahead'. i remember the way your hands would hold those complicated tools while you sanded or carved or tweaked. the broken one is still on your desk. when i touch it it feels like burning.

when we were younger i would sit there on the floor and watch you whittle down the wood. i remember you trying to force me to leave - you shook the knife in my face but i bit you on the ankle and drew blood, and our father yelled but after that you let me stay. i didn't even know what you were making then, i just knew you were my older brother and that alone made anything you did fascinating.

and then_ it _happened and i didn't watch you anymore but you don't want to hear about that anyway.

also found a notebook under your bed. every page is blank except one, the fifty-sixth, I counted, and it had 'July 7' written in the middle. so long ago. what did you do that day? what did any of us do? it was a weekend but I don't know I can't remember and there's no year, and I know it was probably a birthday or one of your shows or a doctor appointment but what if it was the answer what if it was everything what if what if what if

everyone thinks they care about you. there is so much food in the house. everyone you have ever talked to or even just pretended to like has stopped by with pie and chicken and fruit salad and triangle sandwiches with the crusts cut off. why do they bring so much food to a house that has one less person in it? i would be puzzled if i could feel anything right now, but i suppose if i could feel anything at all, a multitude of other emotions would supersede merely 'puzzled'. they are mocking us. i wanted to hurt them but they smiled and looked sad and my hands were full of lasagne. i was starving until i tried some of the soup, but then i threw up and didn't stop throwing up until i fell asleep. everything tasted bitter. it didn't feel like sleeping, though, because i don't remember when it happened and i woke up on the tile floor in the bathroom. then as soon as i sat up i threw up again.

nobody knows and nobody understands and it hurts so much and nobody notices.

i am more tired than i have ever been, but that's not your fault.

**February 17, day five:**

I feel sick writing this, a message you'll never read, and I keep thinking _what if you had taken the long way home_ or _what if you had been driving slower. _In the end, it doesn't matter. After yesterday's entry I screamed forever, and the neighbours complained. Then I went through some things of yours. I found a camera under your bed. You took pictures of the stupidest things. No one cares about your face paint or that stupid girl you never asked out and I'm keeping the memory card.

More bottles. Temari's eyes are still red. I don't think she's eating, but I say nothing because I'm not either.

I dislike being the only brother. You are supposed to be here and you're supposed to be the stupid, funny one that keeps us at least somewhat sane, somewhat functioning. You're doing a bad job.

The semester started up two weeks ago but I stopped going. You would be disappointed. Or would you? Temari would be the one to tell me I'm wasting my life. She's the wasted one now. She spent two hours on the telephone last night. The first hour was easy to tune out, but later when she was still screaming, I picked up the other line and the only sound louder than her voice was the dial tone.

There are needles in my chest and arms and legs and head and

**February 18, day six:**

This was in my trash can this morning even though I do not remember throwing it out, and no one goes in my room but myself, even you know that.

If I take three white pills at night I switch off for two hours and it only sometimes feels like a nightmare. Before I went to sleep, I heard your voice and you said that it_ hurts please end this_, but you weren't scared or panicking. It was slow motion, like when you drop something heavy but know it's too late to grab it, or like it must have felt going around that bend.

People keep knocking on the door but I don't answer. Temari doesn't either, so they stop. There are about a dozen bottles and cans cluttered outside her room with warnings on the labels and blue ribbons and a red shape with a crown and fancy lettering. If Temari were here she would clean them up and tell us off for being so messy but whatever behind that door isn't Temari; it's something else, something that cries and drinks and vomits and cries some more. I want to hate her.

I went outside for the first time today. The sky was too clear, a bright blue, with a kite-flying breeze. I wondered why it wasn't raining because it seems unjust that it should be so warm – for February in any case - but you're not. Naruto said I should come over but I declined; I never want to get in a car again.

I went to the place where it happened. Everyone says you're supposed to feel "vibes" or _something_, but inside me was only an empty shell like a snake or bug that has moulted its skin and left a gaping hole in its place. The tree is still there, twisted and blackened and broken. There might have been some scrap metal, but that part may have been a hallucination. The skid marks are still on the road. I wanted to tear up the asphalt and smash it to dust and throw the pieces into orbit.

Where are you? Why couldn't it have been some heroin junkie or a rapist or someone with less value to their life than the ants that crawl beneath the dirt? You weren't finished yet. We weren't finished with you. My heart is heavy and it hurts.

**February 19, day seven:**

Today, I will explode.

There were twenty of them, all in black shoes and dresses and suits and hats. I only knew a few of them, but I stayed in the back and felt as if I was in another time. The man talked for an hour and there was singing but as soon a I saw the hole in the ground and the box you now live in, I left. It was a ten mile walk; I ran.

**February 21, day nine:**

Panic. I am having that feeling that I did when you were in the hospital after that fight. We all thought you wouldn't wake up, except that was before and it was different and where are you

I went to the place today after dark but the gates locked at 5:00 so I had to climb over them to just sit there and be close to you. In movies they bring flowers but I brought the puppet you never finished. Was that wrong? It rested against the stone and it looks right there.

It is so odd how we spent so many years waiting for one of us to die. I thought I wouldn't care. When you were little, I wanted this. I dreamed of it, salivated at the prospect of the empty lifeless corpse and one less person breathing where I could only drown. Then things changed and this happened and I can hardly imagine something worse. It's unfair. You aren't allowed to show me how to care and love and _feel _and then rip it away again.

Lee said everything works out for the best, but he's wrong. Why would you leave after so short a time? I hated you for so long. You felt no different the other way around. And then it changed and then it was better but now you are gone.

That is the first time I wrote it. It's as if the word glows on the page, taunting me. Gone. You're gone. Gone. I will never see you again except in those gritty pictures and even then you always wore that stupid hood and make-up so we can't even see your face and you're gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone

**February 25, day 13:**

It aches all over like it did with _him_, but this is different because I'm older. We all are.

I simply cannot believe it. It is like a new mantra. First it was "he's going to wake up and be there, he's going to pound on my door and argue that it's my turn to clean the bathroom, he's going to be able to talk to me again", and now it's "I can't believe it, I can't, I can't". It's easier to convince myself of the first one. At what point did vampires and Heaven and reincarnation start to make more sense than science? I wonder if I should put all this effort into accepting that you are gone or constructing a world of perfect denial.

**February 27, day 15:**

I had some of Temari's alcohol yesterday. I hadn't wanted to go down that path, but it was just one sip. And then another, and then another, and then six bottles were empty and I don't remember anything after that and when I told the therapist they're making me see she looked at me for a long, long time without saying anything.

She then said that it wouldn't feel like this forever. She talked about being happy again and I don't know how to tell her that I don't know what that feels like. She talked about outlets. I told her I hadn't tried to stick a fork in one yet. She didn't think it was funny.

I emptied the trash today and found an old candy wrapper and I wanted to believe it was yours. It's probably not.

We keep getting mail for you. I told Temari I'd burn it (did she even hear me?) but it's all in my desk drawer now.

Last night I had a dream that I fixed your headlights so you could see the tree. The car stopped in time and you were okay, a few cuts and bruises but okay.

**March 1, day 18:**

The sun rose today. There's clouds and grass. People run the daily rat race and watch the news and walk their dogs in the park. I went back to school. Taking night classes now. I can't hear what the professors say, but I do the homework and Temari looked at me today for the first time since it happened. Her eyes are clearer now. She's going back to work soon.

How does the earth still turn?

The newspaper talked about a high school play showing tonight and it made me think of you. I put it through the shredder. Twice.

If you lived in ancient Egypt you would be in the Kingdom of the Dead now. If we were in Ancient Greece you'd be in the underworld. If we were Christian you would be in Heaven, or Hell; I would like to think the first. If we were Buddhist you would be somebody or something else. I think to myself that if I rationalise even one of these bullshit religions I can believe there's some chance you'll be back, or I'll be there someday. Except we're nothing, so you're nothing.

I went to the dead people place again. The therapist said I needed that. I'm not so certain.

Sometimes I just want to punch you.

**March 11, day 28:**

Today on the train I saw a man that looked like you. He had the same sweatshirt you always wore and he was built like you and his movements mimicked you. I got off at his stop and called your name again and again, and then realised how idiotic that had been.

The majority of foodstuffs consumed in our home is now food instead of alcohol. I believe Temari is back. All I know is that the bottles have disappeared and her footsteps keep echoing around the house, but I am not about to go out to check.

I see you sometimes. When I got out of the shower you were in the mirror, but after whipping around it turned out to just be a towel on the hook. Last night you were at my desk, that stupid way you sit backwards so you can cross your arms over the back of the chair, but I blinked and you were gone. You walk down hallways and open and close doors, but Temari doesn't know what I'm talking about and the shrink says it is probably because I haven't slept in a week. Stop haunting me. I know you're nowhere.

Naruto comes over a lot now, even when he isn't invited. I know he knows what it's like, but I wish he would stop making jokes. We both know they don't help. Sometimes we just sit in silence, sometimes we eat some of the food still left over from the service. Mostly silence. But he still comes over, and that is something.

**March 13, day 30:**

I think Temari wishes it had been me instead. It had always been you two, and then me on the side. I am the broken one, after all. Now I suppose we are all broken.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm cursed. First Mother, then – him – and now you. What is next? Will Temari drink too much or take too many pills? Will Naruto or Lee go too far and fast and burn out long before they've reached their sun? Sometimes I just want to leave in the black of the night and run until the soles blister and fall off my feet, run until my heart stops beating and then keep running and running and running.

Tonight I stole your shorts and sweatshirt and put them on. They smell like you. Temari always joked about you being fat even though you weren't, but they're so big that they almost fell off, and I felt lost in them. I feel lost anyway.

I don't know if I will ever be able to think of you and not want to say, "Don't get in the car, asshole."

**March 20, day 37:**

I sleep with your pillow now. It is too hard and scratchy but it still smells like you and I don't know what will happen when the scent of wood chip and that awful aftershave fades to nothing. I will probably break something again. They say that's unhealthy, but I've never been healthy so one more shattered glass won't hurt.

When everyone else walks down the stairs I jump out the window because it would be faster, and then I fall and fall and fall and crash. Part of me feels victorious because I've beat them all but that isn't the type of game a person wants to win.

Went to see you today but I shouldn't have to go to the fucking graveyard to do it.

**May 1, day 39:**

I keep finding you everywhere. Reports from back in high school. Crumpled notes filled with your doodles in the margins. Your face on the mantle.

Your paint is all dried out. I can't remember why I checked in the first place. You fill the cracks, you are in the air, you are in every cell. Every time I walk into your room it smells like _you_ and I choke on it.

**May 15, day 53:**

You're supposed to be older today, but you aren't. For one day in January we will be twins, and then I'll be the older one. I never wanted to be an older sibling. Long ago I had wanted to be the _only_ sibling, but now that such a prospect has drawn closer than ever, it frightens me.

There isn't a single video of us from when we were children. That is understandable, of course, but seeing your face would have helped stop the hurt. I still remember, though. I remember many things.

I remember pushing you down a flight of stairs because you wouldn't give my bear back. Your arm was in a sling for a week and you wouldn't talk to me for twice that. And then there are better memories from before. Walking to school, the two of you on either side of me. I never told you, but that always made me feel protected, even if the only reason you didn't leave earlier to avoid me was by order of our father. I suppose it turned out you were the one who needed protecting.

**May 20, day 58:**

How dare you? How dare you? Do you know how selfish you are? You're just nothing, you can't think or breathe or live but you left us here you abandoned us like that runt we found after that one thunderstorm its eyes were closed and he couldn't walk but he yowled so loud and we dried and fed him that kitten formula but it must have been sick because it died anyway and I didn't care at the time but why did you leave us like that? Why did you leave us blind and hurt and sick and why did you leave everything broken, you can't just stomp your way into someone's life and leave again like none of it matters, how dare you I want to be so angry at you I want to hate you

but I can't

**July 15:**

I don't even know the days anymore. Too many.

They renovated the playground down the block. That old wooden swing-set you carved your name into was replaced by shiny metal and black rubber and chains. You are slipping through my fingers like water and even when I cup them together you seep through the cracks.

**August 1:**

Mail doesn't come with your name on it anymore.

**August 20:**

I had a dream last night.

We were sitting in the dark, the way we used to hide under the bed, but everything was numb and soft and silent like a cloud. "Let's go for a trip," I said. You said, "No way, I'm happy here, why bother. Here there is no pain or hatred and we are so powerful and awesome. Why the hell would you sacrifice perfection?" I just wanted to go. For the stories.

"It could suck."

"We'll be careful. We will wait until the right time and we'll go together. The pain is temporary, you know that."

And you said, "But I won't know it there."

"What's that matter? It's the truth."

"Fine. I'll give you twenty-one years."

"Are you serious? That's nothing. You can't leave after twenty-one years. You've seen the way things work down there – it will ruin everything. It will hurt so badly."

"Yeah, but I thought the pain was temporary."

"Just stay a lifetime. You have a million more to spend here. What's just one lifetime?"

"Take it or leave it, bro."

"Fine. But you go first. I will not have you up here laughing at me alone down there."

**January 19:**

You're supposed to be the older one, but I'm catching up. Next year, we will be twins for a day. I'll be just as old as you were when you died, and then the next day I will be older and I will win. That's how it works, doesn't it?

But I suppose birthdays are not all about aging.

**January 31:**

I've been sick for two days. If you were here, you'd make fun of me for being a wimp, but then you'd bring me chicken soup (which Temari probably would have made) and take the bowl when I was done. Then, when you got sick from being around me, I wouldn't come close when you were awake, but by night I'd stack cold medicine and hot tea and extra tissues on your night-stand.

I think, all too late, I am beginning to realise what 'brotherhood' means.

**February 12, day three hundred and sixty-four**:

It hurts the way an old wound scabs over and then scars, but still twinges when you think of its cause, still stings when you poke at it too long. You are a scar now except you were so much _more _than that – you are still so much more than that. Every day I carry you on my shoulders and every day I expect you to walk back in the door, face sweaty from the hot theatre lights, cat ears waving in the air, dumping an oversized backpack full of supplies on the ground. Every day the house is quieter than it was.

But still we press on.

It's so strange. I cannot understand how I'm okay when I think about how hurt I was and how hurt I still am. I cannot understand how I keep getting up in the morning and make breakfast and go to work or school or how I am just still alive when you are missing from my life. How can anything good be built after that? Upon that? What is it built with? What did I do last time?

Last time was different. I don't think there's even a parallel; there's nothing to compare this to. I do not know in which direction to navigate. There's pain and sorrow and rage and vulnerability, but also strength, healing, togetherness - a new word.

That is all I can see or feel or know. Is that enough? Will it ever be?


End file.
